


A Meeting at the Ministry

by themerrygentleman



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 20:45:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4639620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themerrygentleman/pseuds/themerrygentleman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A strange visitor with a very familiar face drops by Hermione Granger's office at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, with an unusual request...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Meeting at the Ministry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AtypicalOwl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtypicalOwl/gifts).



A large flock of bright purple paper airplanes sailed through the spacious corridors of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, then turned as one and swooped through the open door of a corner office. Once inside, they spiraled into the center of the room, gracefully blending in with the hurricane of memos that were already flapping around the desk. The Ministry of Magic’s most urgent memos were enchanted to hover in the air and await attention, and today there were already at least twenty of them orbiting the desk, filling the otherwise immaculate office with a light breeze and a loud rustling.

At the eye of this bureaucratic hurricane, there stood a witch in smart business dress, rapidly reading through one memo after another and sorting them into piles. Hermione Jean Granger was quickly coming to the conclusion that what she needed at the moment, more than anything else in the world, was a nice cup of tea and a few minutes to drink it totally undisturbed. No crises arising, no reports demanding prompt attention…

What she got instead was an insistent knock on the door of the office.

Hermione suppressed a sigh—but then, that was the Ministry for you, she reminded herself. Never a dull moment.

“Somebody to see you, Mrs. Granger,” said Michael Corner’s voice from outside. “I told him you were busy, but he absolutely insisted.”

“If it’s that Davidson fellow _again_ ,” Hermione told him, trying and only partially succeeding to keep the bite of impatience out of her voice, “will you _please_ inform him that he’s wasting his time. I’ve told him three times this week, it doesn’t matter _what_ the house-elves actually want to do with themselves; any _legal structure_ that perpetuates an obligation or necessity to adhere to their original model of servitude is…”

“It’s not Davidson this time, actually,” Michael told her, sounding uncharacteristically nervous. “I really think you need to meet with this one…”

Hermione blinked in confusion for a second, then pulled herself back together and forced a laugh. “Oh. Well, that’ll teach me to go jumping to conclusions, I suppose. Show him in, won’t you?”

Dismissing the hurricane of memos with a flick of her wand, Hermione sat down at her desk and started fiddling with a nearby quill pen. She could practically feel the gears turning in her head as she pondered the possible reasons for an unexpected visit. _Some sort of unrest coming from that new magical beings legislation? Possible. Someone complaining about how I offended them somehow? Very possible. Some new Ministry policy I need to be aware of? They’d have just sent a memo…Voldemort returning? I think I would have heard by now. Ronald up to some sort of practical joke? Not totally unlikely…_

Her speculations were cut off by the door swinging open again, and a man propelling himself through it with great energy. With his lanky frame, all-over-the-place spiky hair, and violently blue suit, the newcomer reminded Hermione of nothing so much as a living scarecrow—but something about his face struck an uncomfortable chord with her. Had she seen him before? And if so, where?

“Hello!” the newcomer said, bounding over to the desk with a wide grin on his face and shaking Hermione's hand with a truly indecent amount of enthusiasm for a Monday morning. “Sorry for just dropping in on you like this, but I’m afraid I’m just a _little_ bit lost at the moment, and everybody I asked told me ‘talk to Hermione Granger, she knows everything there is to know.’ So if it’s convenient, could we…just…um…have a bit of a chat…”

He trailed off, his broad grin slowly turning into an apprehensive look, as Hermione leveled her wand at him. As he’d been talking, she had recognized his face—from the pages of the _Daily Prophet,_ years ago. A man who was supposed to be dead several times over…

_“Stupefy!”_ she snapped, before the stranger could react any further. The jet of red light from her wand hit him full-on, knocking him over and sending quills and documents flying everywhere. To her amazement, however, her visitor promptly clambered back to his feet, clearly still very much conscious, brushing himself off and looking indignant.

“Oi! D’you just try to Stun everyone who walks into your office? Bit rude, don’t you think?”

“Don’t even try it,” Hermione hissed, hoping her voice wasn’t shaking. “You’re…”

“Barty Crouch Junior, the Death Eater. Oh, yes, I know,” the man interrupted, rolling his eyes. “It’s one hell of a resemblance, apparently. I already got thrown out of Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor because they thought I was him. And they didn’t even let me finish my banana split! Let me tell you, finding out that human beings can do magic like this was _one_ thing, but that banana split was still the most magical thing I’ve seen all day…”

Hermione could feel a headache coming on, and she still had no idea what to think. A logical explanation was eluding her, no matter how desperately she tried to come up with one. The original Barty Crouch had had his soul removed by a Dementor…perhaps this strange new personality was somehow the result? But then, why did he still look like he had nineteen years ago?

“Look,” the stranger told her, “This sort of thing happens every now and again. I once ran into a dictator who looked just like me, caused all sorts of problems, let me tell you. Faces have a way of recurring--still don't know where they come from, actually; been meaning to look into it one of these days. But I promise you, I am _not_ this Crouch bloke, whoever he is.”

Hermione didn't let her guard down or lower her wand, but she supposed there was no harm in humoring him for the moment. “Right.”

“I’m actually an alien from another planet."

“… _what?_ ” Hermione was quickly arriving at the conclusion that maybe she’d better send an owl to St. Mungo’s. This was Gilderoy Lockhart all over again…

“No, really!” The stranger nodded with an expression of complete earnestness, pushing his square-framed glasses up on his nose for emphasis. “I’m the Doctor, I’m nine hundred and, er...and a bit, and I’m a Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey. You can probably prove it—haven’t you got some kind of spell for figuring out if someone is a human or not?”

Hermione hesitated for a bit, but finally concluded that if something went wrong, she’d still be quick enough to defend herself.

“ _Homenum Revelio._ ”

And Hermione felt absolutely nothing—the usual slight tingle of confirmation that occurred when the spell detected a human presence simply didn’t happen. The Doctor stared back at her, then nodded solemnly.

Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it again after a moment, not at all sure what she possibly could have said. For the first time in goodness knew how long, she was completely at a loss. A large part of her was insisting that there was no way the Doctor’s claims could be true, but then again, her years of experience with the Wizarding world had taught her not to assume anything was impossible.

But still, _aliens?_

“…what is it you wanted, exactly?” she asked the Doctor helplessly, for lack of a better option.

“Oh, nothing much, don’t worry,” he replied, shrugging. “Mostly just advice about how to blend in with you wizard types. I just saw something odd in that _Daily Prophet_ newspaper you’ve got, something that looked…well…like the sort of thing I usually get mixed up in. And I was passing through, so I thought I’d investigate…but it looks like I need to get into someplace called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You ever heard of it?”

Hermione just stared at him again. Being lost for words was a very unfamiliar sensation for her, and she was rapidly coming to the conclusion that she didn’t like it one bit.

She grabbed the nearest piece of parchment off her desk, tore it in half, grabbed a quill, and scribbled a couple of notes:

_Michael—please hold all of my appointments for the rest of the day; I’m not going to be available from now till closing time. H_

And

_Ron—sorry, but I’m probably going to be working late; something unusual’s come up. Go ahead and make dinner without me tonight. I’ll be home as soon as I can. Love, Hermione_

And with that done, she folded both notes into paper airplanes and sailed them out the door with a flick of her wand: one to the reception desk, and one to the Auror Office.

“Now, then,” she told the Doctor, fixing him with the stern expression that had made so many students, professors, and Ministry officials quail in the past, “I think you have a _lot_ of explaining to do. Why don’t you begin at the beginning?”

The Doctor took a deep breath, eyes widening, and ran a hand through his hair, leaving it even messier than before. “ _Well…_ ”

* * *

A few hours later, Percy Weasley stumbled to a halt in the middle of a brisk walk through the streets of Westminster, frowning in puzzlement at the strange object he'd just noticed in the middle of an otherwise nondescript alley. 

It was a blue, wooden box a little more than six feet tall, not too different in appearance from the false phone booth that marked the visitors' entrance to the Ministry of Magic a block or two away. Percy's father probably would have known what Muggles used it for, he reflected, but that wasn't what was important right now.

What  _was_ important was the way the entire box was flickering in and out of existence, like someone trying to Apparate but not quite getting the hang of it, until it finally vanished altogether to the accompaniment of a faint wheezing noise. 

Percy gritted his teeth, heaved out a sigh, and kept walking. It was incredibly irritating how little respect people had for the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy these days, he thought; this was the third or fourth blatant public display of magic he'd seen this week alone. He'd have to call a meeting about it soon, maybe see about getting a new series of public service announcements off the ground...

He hurried on his way and thought no more about it. After all, unlike some people, he didn't have all the time in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story as a birthday present for AtypicalOwl last winter, but only now have I finally gotten around to touching it up and publishing it! 
> 
> It was originally intended to be the prelude to a much longer work, which was going to involve the Tenth Doctor undercover as a Hogwarts professor while he investigated strange alien happenings at the school (and which also would have involved the next generation of students, including Teddy Lupin and George and Angelina's kids). That project is on the back burner for now while I work on other stuff, but I certainly wouldn't rule out working on it again if there's an interest! In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed this one-shot.


End file.
